Away from Home (23 page)

“Shall we go back into the library?” She rose, fluffing out her skirts that were the color of fire. “We could sit in the living room if you like, but I prefer the library because it is my own room. All the things I like are in there.”

Carlos followed her into the library. She put more records on the phonograph and poured brandy. Only one lamp was lighted. How opulent the room seemed in the shadows, as if she were a rich woman! Leila did not want him to know that she had hardly enough to live on; she did not want him to feel sorry for her. She had been deserted but she was not starving; she could still have a new dress made whenever she wanted one; she could buy Scotch whisky and real French perfume. She knew that girls had been after Carlos for years because of his money, and that was probably why he was so shy, but none of them had ever been able to talk to him as she could. She would be a surprise to him.

“I am writing two papers,” he said. He was sitting next to her on the sofa and touching her hand. “They are each so different it will make you laugh. One is an earnings report to my stockholders. The other is a paper on what is wrong with the Brazilian theater today.”

“I would like to hear about the second one,” Leila said demurely.

“And not the first?”

“If you would like to speak of your business, of course I would like to hear it. My … husband often spoke to me about his office.”

“I could speak to
you
about my business,” Carlos said. “You would understand, I know that.”

“Thank you.”

“But, actually, I would rather hear myself speak about my paper on the Brazilian theater. I hope to have it published in a magazine. I compare our theater with the vitality of the theater abroad. I think our dramatists have much to learn from the vitality of foreign theater.”

She was leaning toward him, looking into his face. He had a half-humorous way of speaking, as if he did not really expect her to think anything he had to say was important. She wondered if that was the way he spoke to everyone, or only to women. He must be so used to having women pretend to understand what he was speaking about and then reveal themselves by some stupid flirtatious remark that had nothing to do with the subject.

“I would like very much to see the American theater,” she said seriously.

“Perhaps someday I will take you.”

“Really? Imagine! To America?”

“Why not?”

“Oh, you are teasing me,” Leila said. She had hold of his hand with both her own, like a child entreating a fascinating adult. “Do you mean it?”

“Would you go with me?” he asked. He had a little half-smile as he spoke.

“Of course I would!”

“Well, then …”

“We could travel on a ship,” she said dreamily. “It would take nearly forever.”

“Your eyes glitter like a little cat’s.”

“Little cat. My brother called me that.” Suddenly her eyes filled with tears and she turned away. She did not know why she felt so moved and full of confusion. She felt frightened, and she was no longer sure whether she was happy or not. She did not know whether Carlos was only teasing her about America; she did not know whether he meant they would go as a married couple or if she would only be his mistress. She did not want to go as his mistress. She did not know what she wanted, and she was afraid to ask him anything too seriously for fear he would stop smiling and admit the whole beautiful scheme had been only a joke.

“You are not going to cry?” he asked.

“No.” She wiped her eyes with her fingers and laughed.

“I love women because I can never understand them,” he said, smiling.

“You understand me.”

“Not altogether. I don’t want to. You are too charming the way you are.” He took her hands and kissed her fingers where they were damp from her tears, and then he kissed her mouth. This time she felt the kiss and tasted her own tears, salty now on his lips and strange to her. It was as if he had taken over her grief, as a man should, and was handing it back to her, impersonal now and no longer painful because he had taken the meaning of it away. Look, his kiss said, here are your tears of a moment ago, and they are nothing; only salt water.

She put her arms around his neck and kissed him several times, and he kissed her. There was nothing wild about their kissing; it was very gentle and romantic and comforting; almost a flirt. In her mind, behind her closed eyes, Leila could see a great white ship, with both of them on it, leaving the harbor.

“I must go now,” Carlos said softly, drawing away.

“So soon?”

“I must finish my stockholders’ report. I would much rather kiss you all night, but I cannot tell that to the stockholders.”

They walked to the door with their arms about each other’s waists. His waist was very lean. She was glad that he did not have an old body; he was still a comparatively young man; he would be a good husband. Even, she thought, perhaps even a good lover if I really am reckless enough to make love with him. It did not seem to matter, now that he was leaving her. She felt lonely. If he had stopped at the doorway and said, Be my mistress, I will stay, she would have agreed at that moment, only because the thought of closing the door behind him and being alone made her throat hurt.

“Where are your children?” he asked.

“I have sent them to spend the weekend with some friends in Petropolis. They hate the heat.”

“And you? Do you hate the heat too?”

“If I went away for the summer I would not be able to see you,” she said.

He smiled. “I am very lucky. Good night, little cat. Thank you for this evening.”

“It was nothing.”

She watched him as he walked down the hall and then she shut the door. He seemed happy but not eager to get away. As she walked slowly back to the library Leila went over in her mind everything that Carlos had said to her that evening and everything she had said to him. Had she said anything wrong? No, she had been intelligent, interested, solicitous. And he had seemed to like her. He had eaten very much at the table. He had drunk all the wine. He had admired her books. He had kissed her many times. Perhaps he really liked her more than any of the other women he knew.…

What he had said to her and what she had answered kept ringing in her head until she had no peace. She wanted to stop going over it all but she could not. Why couldn’t there be an answer, so that when a man spoke to a woman he said, I am now making love to you and I mean it because I love you. Or, I am making love to you but it is only a game, so laugh and you will not be hurt. No one spoke that way; you could not expect it. And yet, it was all so new.

She took a book from the shelf but she could not read it. Her mind kept leaving the page and returning to a recital of Carlos’ words. She would think of something else. Her children—no, if she thought of them she would worry. Were they homesick in Petropolis, were they crying? Teresinha often cried at night from nightmares when she was at home. Perhaps her older sister would make fun of Teresinha if she cried in bed, perhaps she would not understand. And the boys … would they do something reckless, would they get themselves killed? You never knew what boys would do if you didn’t watch them. They thought they were so strong, but they were only babies. Leila covered her face with her hands.

She would think of something else; she would remember. She would remember something funny from when she was young, before everything changed for her. She remembered her governess, Madame. Wherever she went she always had to go with Madame, that tall, heavy woman with the tiny eyes. Madame’s eyes were so small there seemed to be a useless space between them and around them that was her white face, and yet they were always darting to see that Leila was not talking to a boy or running out of sight. Leila remembered the night of her wedding, her civil ceremony, which took place the day before the religious ceremony, which really counted.

She and João Alberto had been married in the civil ceremony, but even then they were not allowed to be alone with each other, not even to go to the movies. There was a French film they wanted to see, so after the wedding she and João Alberto and Madame and João Alberto’s cousin Izabel and Izabel’s husband had all gone to the movies together. The two couples knew in advance how they would arrange the trick; they had done it often before.

When they entered the theater there was a great crowd. Everyone was rushing for seats. Leila and Izabel nodded at each other, and then Leila and João Alberto, clutching hands, had run upstairs to the balcony and Izabel and her husband had scampered to the front of the orchestra. Madame, not knowing which couple to run after first, had contented herself with galloping after Izabel because it was easier than running up so many stairs, and besides, Leila and João Alberto were already lost in the mob. They were alone! Leila and her husband of a few hours had sat in the last row of the balcony and kissed and kissed, not even knowing what was happening on the screen.

After the movie was over they walked demurely down the stairs into the lobby. Leila had smoothed her hair. “Oh, Madame!” she cried when she caught sight of her governess breathing fire and looking vengeful, “
There
you are!”

“Here I am, yes. And where were you?”

“We looked all over for you,” Leila said innocently. “You must have got lost in the crowd.”

“It was a terrible crowd,” Izabel chimed in like an angel.

“Tch!” said Madame, but she protested no more, and behind her broad back as they walked home Leila and Izabel exchanged winks, smiling happily.

And the next day there was the religious ceremony, and forever after Leila and her husband were allowed to go to the movies together alone.

Leila stood up now and walked slowly around the library, turning out the lights. She emptied Carlos’ cigar ashes into a silent butler. You could not live in the past, and she was not even quite sure now that she wanted to. When she had been a girl running away from her governess to be with her fiancé it had not seemed as amusing as it did now when she looked back on it from far away. It was always easy to say the past was better, but Leila knew it was not, or at least hers was not. Many sad things had happened to her, but she was a grown-up woman now and she was free. She was sure many of her married friends were jealous of her because she had her freedom and could do what she liked.

It was so early; only eleven o’clock. She wondered if Carlos were hard at work on his stockholders’ report, or if he had only made an excuse to her and had gone to a
boâte
with someone else. She looked out the window, as if that could help her somehow, but of course she could see only the houses across the street. She looked at the telephone on the little table in the hall and looked away from it, biting at the edge of her finger until it was sore.

Then the telephone rang, almost as if her fierce look at it had caused it to vibrate. For a moment Leila could not believe it was actually ringing. She ran to answer it, pausing for a moment before she spoke in order to catch her breath and still the pounding of her heart.

“Hello.”

“Leila? Is it too late? Have I awakened you?”

“No, no, Ricardinho,” she said, trying not to let her disappointment show in her voice. She had known Ricardo all her life; she still called him “Little Ricardo,” even though he and she were the same age. “I was reading.”

“I was at a very dull dinner party at some friends of my mother’s. I thought I might take you to a
boâte
for a drink or two, some place cool. If you are not too tired?”

She almost said it was too late. Then she thought of Carlos. “I will go with you with pleasure,” she said. “Come right way.”

She combed her hair and powdered her face, humming with anticipation, not as if she were going out with Little Ricardo at all, but as if she were going to see Carlos again.

Ricardo was at her door in five minutes, precise and neat in his white suit, his hair combed back so tightly with lotions that it seemed to be painted on. His smile was bright and happy, as it always was; he loved life, he was happy even to be going to the same night club he frequented at least twice a week, with a woman he had known since he was born. Everything was always new to him, as to a baby. Leila kissed him affectionately on both cheeks.

“You are not with a girl tonight? You have come to take out an old friend? How kind you are!” she said mischievously.

“Ah, I cannot always make love,” he said happily.

His car was parked at the curb under a tree and a streetlight, its shiny white paint dappled with the outlines of dark leaves. “Would you like to go to Sacha’s?” he asked.

“Let’s just … drive for a while,” Leila said. “I will tell you where to drive.”

He drove slowly, glancing alternately through the windshield and sidewise at her. “Where are you leading me?”

“More slowly, please. Turn to this street on the left.” She smiled. “It’s so beautiful.”

“This street is beautiful? More than any others?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Slowly!” She was leaning out the window now, counting the floors of Carlos’ apartment house to find the one that was his. Those were his windows on the corner; he had told her he had a corner view. One was lighted. She wondered if the window were lighted because there was someone working inside the room or if it were only a lamp left lighted by a servant until someone came home to bed. “
Please
drive by again,” Leila said.

Ricardo was smiling at her. “You must find this a
very
beautiful street.”

“Only as a favor to me, Ricardinho. Please.”

“I will drive by this house a dozen times if you ask me to,” he said.

“You are always gallant.”

“No. I like to help a friend who is in love.”

He was circling the block to return. Leila looked at him in alarm. “In love?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Of course not.”

“Then this is a very late hour to be buying real estate,” Ricardo said. He slowed the car almost to a stall. “Slow enough?”

She looked. It was a bright light in the window, the light of several lamps. They were wide, high, modern windows, the curtains drawn far apart. She could see the top of his bookshelf, and yes … she saw a figure moving about! “Once more. Only once more, Ricardinho.”